


Haunted

by JuxtaposedNova



Category: Open Heart (Visual Novels)
Genre: Alcohol, And she's just as dangerous as her namesake, Character Analysis, Complex Relationship, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Forbidden Love, He's holding back like an idiot, Hurt No Comfort, Mentor/Protégé, Mutual Pining, Psychology, Secret Relationship, Strong Female Characters, no beta we die like spartans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29884806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuxtaposedNova/pseuds/JuxtaposedNova
Summary: Both Ethan and Calypso are forced to deal with the unresolved upon his return, but detaching from what they condemn is rarely easy.
Relationships: Ethan Ramsey/Main Character (Open Heart), Ethan Ramsey/Original Female Character(s)





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> My haunted lungs, ghost in the sheets. I know if I'm haunting you, you must be haunting me. My wicked tongue, where will it be? I know if I'm on to you, you must be on to me
> 
> If you like the story, feel free to leave kudos or a comment.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

Heat hung in the air, like a duvet left to dry in the sun, only adding to the growing anxiousness adhered to the people assembling in the bar.

“What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” She hissed, narrowing her eyes dangerously. Fury seeped into her gaze as she looked up and down at the predator, studying him with disdain.

Her fingers burned from the strength she had directed to them when she yanked Dr. Thorne back, adrenaline draining the pain from her muscles slowly. Glass cracked underneath the weight of her heels as she took a step back in case she needed to defend herself from the man standing before her, readying her fists to knock him out.

Turning to face her, an ugly sneer decorating his face, he snapped at her. “This girl broke my hand! I’m a plastic surgeon! Do you have any idea how valuable my hands are?”

She was willing to bet they would fetch a pretty price in the black market should she decide to separate them from his body. Perhaps if she set her sights lower and turned him into a eunuch he’d learn his lesson.

“I’m pressing charges!” He argued, stepping closer to her, redirecting his anger to her. “And by the time my lawyers are through with her –“

From behind her, a deep voice came, joined by the weight of a hand on her shoulder.

“Garret.” Ethan chided, a frown relying to her the depth of his anger beyond the body language that tensed the muscles barely concealed underneath his shirt. “That is enough.”

His fingers curled around her gently as he pushed her back protectively, his body standing between Dr. Thorne and her like a stronghold.

“You still got one good hand, don’t you?” He denounced, his voice lowering. “Put it to good use and call yourself a cab.”

Muttering a _twat_ under her breath, she turned back to the girl, absentmindedly massaging her fingers.

“Hey, are you -?” She stopped herself when she realized the girl had disappeared.

Instead, she was met with the worried and curious gazes of unknown and familiar patrons alike. With a fast look around, she was able to notice the back door of the bar swinging closed. Reaching for a clean rag and a half-full bottle of grain alcohol, she exited the building, mentally reminding herself to bring Reggie a first aid kit next time she visited.

The cold night air greeted her with scorn, assaulting her body and carrying her hair in the direction of the wind. Away from the heat provided by the mob of party goers, she finally acknowledged the mistake of not bringing a jacket with her from the apartment.

The girl sat on the curb, delicately pulling shards of glass out of her torn clothes and skin. Slowly, so as to not scare her after almost being assaulted, she approached her, kneeling in front of her, and placing the rag on her own lap and the bottle on the floor beside her.

“Hey.” She said softly, smiling warmly. “Are you okay?”

The cold and indifferent tone that the emissary sent her way took her by surprise, but she maintained her rapport. “Never better.”

“Let me help you.” She coaxed, reaching for the bottle and opening it.

“Why?” The girl asked, raising a thick eyebrow at her in cautious interest.

She could almost taste the apprehension on her tongue. “Because you need help, and you don’t have to be alone right now.”

With a purse of her lips, the girl offered her leg to her. She nodded and poured some alcohol into the rag to wet it. Without the proper environment to sterilize the wound, she took extra precautions to clean it. It somehow didn’t faze her that the girl hadn’t even winced at the burning sensation of the attention provided.

“I didn’t need saving, you know.” The girl broke the silence, forcing Calypso to look up with a grin toying at her lips like a puppeteer pulling the strings.

“I know.” She agreed, shaking her head as she frowned and resumed her work. “But someone ought to stand up to that arsehole. Once again, while you could’ve done it on your own, you didn’t have to. I’ve been there before, and I know how unpleasant and terrifying it can be.”

With an amused tone lacing her voice, the girl nodded. “I messed that guy up pretty bad, huh?”

An undignified snort escaped her, soon morphing into a chuckle. She looked into her eyes with a proud smile, then finished cleaning up the wound.

“He got what he deserved, and I’m certain it’ll stay with him for quite a bit. No one has a right to put their hands on you without your consent.”

The girl nodded quietly, and her leg relaxed against her careful touch. Gently, she wrapped up the wound in the cloth. Yet she remained unsatisfied, thinking of the multiple ways it could still get infected if left properly untreated.

Tentatively, Calypso stood up, stumbling slightly on her feet as the alcohol that had been absorbed into her bloodstream took hold of the chemical signals on her brain, increasing the dopamine synapsis produced. Regaining her balance, she once again looked down, offering her hand to the girl, letting it linger in the air with her fingers outstretched and her ring glowing against the artificial light on the street.

“I’m a doctor at Edenbrook a couple blocks away.” She began, bending down to grab the bottle and close it. “I can properly bandage you there.”

“I’ll be fine.” The girl said dryly, before a flash of something crossed her eyes. “Thanks.”

Taking her hand, the girl rose to her feet. She let go, gave her a nod of respect, and walked out of the alley without looking back.

With a shake of her head and a smile, she headed back inside, welcoming the smothering heat of the bar. Scanning the room, she identified Ethan pushing Thorne into a rideshare before coming back in. He spotted her, and began making his way towards her, but was stopped by her friends rushing to her. With the interruption, he approached the bar instead. 

“Whoa, Calypso, what went down in here?” Elijah asked, his hands flying to her arms and looking for any injuries as he watched Reggie, the bartender, sweep up the glass from the confrontation.

She placed her hands above his, and gently squeezed. “Dr. Thorne wouldn’t piss off after being told no. It escalated.”

“I always knew that guy was gross.” Jackie scowled, tightening the bun on her head.

The sound of glass falling called her attention back to where Reggie was disposing of the trash. His gaze travelled to the arrows in the clock and a wave of relief seemed to wash over him.

“Alright, people, last call.” He shouted over the sound of displeased groans from the patrons. “You ain’t gotta go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Nervousness began crawling up her heels and up to her head, wrapping around it like a python and squeezing tight enough for her breathing to be cut short. “Already?”

If she went to back to the apartment with her roommates, sleep would elude her like a nymph running from the attentions of a capricious god. Such was the cost of appeasing the gods, of tasting nectar thinking divinity could belong to her in the sighs that escaped the embrace of a lover who had dripped from her fingers like honey and into the untameable waters of the ocean beneath her feet.

Letting tomorrow come faster would be to face what it felt like to be incomplete.

“Like Reggie said, last call doesn’t have to mean ‘go home’. We can stay out and explore.” Bryce offered, his smile momentarily lighting up the dark, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

He looked into her eyes with the sort of clarity she lacked being so close to the object of her desire yet being unable to grasp it, it was hung before her but never given. She smiled nudging him playfully, knowing well enough where to draw the line but teeter over it.

His flirty nature colliding with her own allowed for a dynamic that easily could transform but somehow never did. She respected, cherished, and loved him enough not to put him through the pain of false hope when they had so clearly expressed their attraction towards each other. Tumbling into bed would be unchallenging, there was no doubt of it – but to let her print taint him would be something she’d forever regret.

“Screw that, I’m starving.” Jackie interjected, swinging an arm around her shoulder and pushing Bryce’s away. “Let’s get something to eat.”

Calypso couldn’t help but to raise an eyebrow in amusement.

“You guys are nuts. I’m twenty minutes away from falling asleep on my wheels.” Elijah deflected, shaking his head.

This time, she actually laughed, jealous at the melatonin his brain produced.

“Good thing we can get you home in fifteen, then.” Sienna intervened, putting a hand over his chair, then looking at her with concern in her eyes hidden behind her smile. “You coming, Calypso?”

But as Donahue’s emptied out, she glanced over at Ethan. He hadn’t moved from his usual seat at the bar, where Reggie was topping off his drink. She had looked at that spot so many times during his absence, hoping to see his shadow.

Seeing him, truly seeing him there, it transported her to another state of mind. Like opiods to the hopeless.

He stood tall, looking straight ahead. He looked at people in the eye when he spoke to them, said what he thought and was comfortable if people disagreed with him. When he made a mistake, he accepted it and apologized if necessary. When he wasn’t good at something, he admitted it. He was unafraid to express his emotions, even if that meant he got rejected because of them sometimes. He had no problem moving on to people who didn’t reject him but liked him for who he was.

He didn’t react to people around him, rather, people reacted to him.

“So?” She called to him. “Last call doesn’t apply to you?”

Her friends moved away, making for the exit so they could have some privacy. Their confrontations had become infamous, and for those who knew the true depth of their bond and relationship – they would rather not stand in the way of the storm when it threatened to rip the very foundations of the earth from the ground.

“Reggie and I go way back.” Ethan responded, his tone distant from her. “We have an arrangement.”

And still, his voice surrounded her warmly, as if welcoming her back into him. “An arrangement? Is that what you call a friendship?”

This sort of vulnerability she was so freely gifting to him, forced her to accept her own perception of herself over those of others. But it could only be done by consistently exposing herself and opening her emotions and true thoughts first to herself and then to those around her.

Her bloodstream buzzed with the intensity of the chemical combination of attraction, yearning and vodka.

“I don’t have friends.” He teased, a smirk resting on his lips when he looked at her. “But…I wouldn’t mind you joining me if you were so inclined.”

It was this willingness to cut her off and tell her when she was out of line, to tell her what he would and would not tolerate in his life that sub-communicated the most powerful elements of attraction to her. Far more powerful than an entertaining story or game.

Admittedly, it was why it was possible for him to anger her and arouse her at the same time.

Walking to the door, she felt the weight of his gaze on her. She popped her head out and smiled at her friends. “You lads go on ahead. I want to check in about tomorrow with Dr. Ramsey.”

Sienna gave her a concerned look but nodded nonetheless, bidding her goodbye with the rest of her friends. “Just don’t stay out too late…”

The subtext was clear enough.

“…Aurora’s dropping off the rest of her stuff before work tomorrow.”

Hope was as dangerous as it was necessary.

She joined him at the bar, letting her hips sway seductively in the way she knew drove him mad. Somehow, she managed to keep her balance even as if it was pushed between the walls of inebriation.

Liquid love, it was such a similar thing to liquid courage yet so different. It was akin to opening plains and emphasizing the spaces where one reduced their own importance. She saved those moments with him so she could transform them into nostalgia.

“Rook – er, Calypso.” He stopped himself, frowning slightly as he took a sip of his drink. “Sorry, force of habit.”

Everything she saw was him, everything branded deep into her was him, so she nodded towards his rugged jacket – signalling to the change of look that fitted him.

“We’ve been bestowed with a brand new Ethan Ramsey.” She teased, her expression remaining neutral as she looked straight ahead at the top shelf bottles above them.

Looking down at it, he acknowledged it. “This jacket’s been through a lot with me.”

Such was the power held by love for strength to give up.

“I like it, it suits you.” She complimented, unable to say that he suited her and she, him.

This brought a genuine smile to his lips as he finally looked at her with cautious relief and joy. Inched so close but pulled miles away. He was half a metre away but she felt ten frontiers away from where they had once caressed the _what if_.

“Duly noted. And the beard?” He asked, his thumb caressing the cold glass he held onto for dear life.

“It looks enchanting on you.” She chuckled, looking at him through her eyelashes as she shook her head.

He scratched at his beard thoughtfully and she wondered what it would feel like against her skin as they kissed. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

Renting an alternative reality and from that perspective, she saw months in the second that their eyes met. The intensity burned her, scorching away anger she had kept in carefully labelled jars decorated with lilac wine veins and red wax over the lids.

She glanced around, escaping for a second, trying to calm her delusions by dipping her hands into cold ice. The last of the patrons filed out, leaving her alone with Ethan as Reggie cleaned.

“Why don’t we move outside? It’ll be winter before we know it. Might as well enjoy the weather while we can. You want something to drink?”

Winter had arrived the moment she was bereft of him, warmed only by her own treacherous touch and resentment.

The reason romantic rejection got people hooked was that it stimulated parts of the brain associated with motivation, reward, addiction, and cravings.

“Whatever you’re having.” To share more than the same air.

Ethan reached over the bar and gabbed a half-drunk bottle of expensive scotch and an empty glass. He called to Reggie, lifting the bottle high for the man to see. “Hey, Reggie, we’re borrowing this.”

Reggie merely waved him on as they headed out to the beer garden, empty and tranquil. The emptiness provided a cloak for them, the very essence of the forbidden they had birthed.

He took a seat beside a small fire pit and she instinctively sat beside him.

Silence ran loud in her ears. “I can see why you fancy this place.”

“Because nobody’s annoying me?” He smiled, resting his back comfortably against the seat and toying with the glass. 

“Aside from me?” She teased, raising her eyebrow and continuing before he could respond. “More or less. It’s peaceful and that’s a luxurious commodity.”

Humming in agreement, he stared into the fire quietly. She mimicked him, letting the moment linger. It came to her than this was the longest interaction they had had all night, followed closely by their encounter with the plastic surgeon.

“So, this Dr. Thorne fellow, should I worry about him?” She interrupted, reaching for the bottle between them and pouring herself a drink.

His lips quirked upward just slightly. “He has some influence. Just stay out of his way for a couple of weeks and he’ll entirely forget who you are.”

“But not who you are.” She pointed out, sipping her drink. “Should _you_ be worried?”

“I’ve worked too hard to get to where I am to give a damn what someone like him thinks.”

A confident man did not seek to impose himself on the boundaries of others, he was merely interested in maintaining his own boundaries while respecting other people’s. It was what differentiated him from people like Dr. Thorne, most people even.

He turned to her, noticing the concern etched into her countenance.

“Don’t think twice about that asshole.” He offered, sipping his drink. “What you did there helping that girl? You did the right thing. That’s all that matters.”

She crossed her legs.

“Yes.” She replied with conviction. “You’re right.”

“Of course.” He echoed, smiling. “I’m always right.”

Scoffing, she drank the remnants of her beverage and poured herself another. “It’s good to see your ego’s intact.”

“What you did just now was brave.” He continued despite her playfulness. “You’ve always been brave in the face of disaster and death, of course…”

Trailing off, he followed the movement of her lips touching the glass as she drank.

“...but it’s always different when you’re facing down a superior. To stand up to them for what’s right.” He added. 

Slowly, she lowered the glass, letting it rest on her lap as she leaned back. “Surely not as valiant as venturing into the depths of the Amazon to fight an epidemic.”

A sombre and grim look fell over his face as he redirected his attention back at his drink.

“…that wasn’t bravery, Calypso.” He whispered.

Stilling, a quietness encircled them protectively with only the soft sound of an old song playing from the jukebox inside. She knew it was time to open Pandora’s box, aware that it could never be closed again, and she’d be forced to deal with the emotions that released its revelation.

“Ethan…” His name tasted saccharine, almost too much. “Why didn’t you contact me? It was complete radio silence for two months. After everything that happened between us?”

The mask of neutrality that he immediately donned told her everything she needed to know before he delivered the finishing blow.

“Everything that happened between us is exactly why I didn’t contact you.” He uttered, finally daring to look at her. “Calypso, if we’re going to work together on the diagnostics team, we need a fresh start.”

They could not detach themselves from what they condemned.

“Your professional development is too important to jeopardize it with whatever…”

Poison flowed through her, staring into his James Dean glossy eyes. She raised her glass to her lips and finished her drink in one go, relishing in the blaze it fed within her. Fire that travelled all the way to her eyes, uncovering the anger she had nurtured.

“…whatever it was that we had.” He finished.

Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her chin upward. “ _Had_ , past tense.”

“Yes.” He acknowledged, sadness painting the indigo of his gaze as if the night sky itself had melted into the ocean to grant him the beauty in his eyes. “And the past is where it has to remain.”

Such sadness meant they had reached the final station. Whatever joy she had felt upon seeing him, and the meaning of togetherness she had given it, was corrupted. Sadness was the shape, and joy, the content – it filled its space.

Not even looking at the calendar would she be able to uncover what they had become. Her shared reality with him began to shake, and she could presage the end. She didn’t want to win anymore; she was exhausted of inventing excuses that couldn’t walk on their own.

There was no malice, just ingenuity in their bond. They had pretended believing the world had been at their feet. She’d be taking a train that didn’t sleep so that silence would fuel the life she’d dream of with him in screaming colour.

She had followed him like the periods at the end of every suicidal phrase that sought its end. Like a vagrant that thought cinema an escape, or a resigned flower decorating her elegant bedroom. She developed complexity parting from binary code.

At last, he met her gaze. In a sick and fucked up sense of closure, she felt as if he could see right through her as she saw through him.

Having preferred to fast in the open sea than to eat in an aquarium – floating on the surface of the event, watching it unfold, observing it like an outsider looking in – she let herself be moved to action only by emotion.

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his softly. Let herself taste Eden one last time before being torn from its safety.

When he tensed, she knew. He didn’t pull back, letting their connection last.

But they had never been just two, for fear had made them three. They were so alike that if he left, so would she. What was quantity to her if only intensity would make her happy? Before doing that which would destroy them, she preferred to observe and do him.

Yet between having and fearing, she knew which one he’d pick.

So, she leaned back, staring into his eyes from inches apart – beholding the scene of desire and pain that played out on his face. But she didn’t apologize.

“Dammit, Calypso.” He cursed, his hold on the glass so tight it threatened to break underneath his strength.

Pride was a double-edged sword, and yet she let it touch her. It’d be the only thing sleeping with her tonight. Anger would be the one to kiss her, resentment the one to hold her. And vengeance? The one to fuck her, for lovemaking was not in its repertoire – that was devotion’s job. Even the wise man dwelled in the fool’s paradise.

He didn’t know the hell he had put her through, and the one she’d carefully crafted for him. Her touch had been sacred, deliberately given.

Because this was where she was the master. Seduction was her game, the power to render a man beyond reason if she so desired. He had walked into the dragon’s den unknowingly, unprepared.

Sex was a language to her – one she spoke with dangerous fluency. She could make the steeliest of men crumble underneath her touch, to have them peak with nothing but a look. She was the living personification of a fantasy, and she had fetichised it, being the unattainable object of desire. An archer set to fire Eros’ deadly arrow.

That was the god she prayed to when the religion she found in him was torn by the iconoclast he had decided to become.

It had been a façade when she was younger, a skill amongst many – but she had milked its use during her college years. Her interactions had almost been surgical, meant to obtain what she wanted whenever she wanted it. A testament to her laziness or brilliance, she could no longer tell. A puppeteer of great subterfuge.

And she had toyed with more men and women than she could count, it didn’t surprise her that she was finally getting what she deserved.

But she didn’t answer to karma.

It would drive them both mad with lust, it would dig yearning deep into her like a dagger to her heart. Punishing not only herself but him with the choices they had made, because they both knew how to please and curse the other – where one started and the other ended. It would be dark and provocative, and they’d inevitably collide when they came close.

They were both human, how long until they gave in?

“If you don’t want to kiss me, then just tell me –.”

“It has nothing to do with _want_.” He growled lowly, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. “And if I give a damn about you, I _won’t_.”

His sorrow caressed her as he looked at her, his hand lingering close to hers but never touching.

“How am I supposed to push you to be everything you can be if I…” He stopped himself, recognizing the fire shielded by her thick eyelashes.

“If you what?” She countered, forcing herself not to display more emotion.

Biting the corner of his lip, he did his best to look away from her, tearing himself agonizingly from the embrace of her presence before him and turning back to his drink, downing the entire thing in one gulp.

Insecurities screamed as they dug up, hands raising from the tundra where they had remained dormant for so long.

“Ah, I understand.” She insinuated, mimicking his actions, and standing up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Ramsey.”

Placing the empty glass beside him, she left with nothing but the emotions raging inside of her and a longing for that which she could no longer have. To deny her him it was the cruellest of things he could’ve ever done. 

But if she had stayed, she would’ve noticed that he had willed himself not to follow her.

The wine dark-seas were as fickle and unpredictable as the powerful goddess who ruled them. It only made sense her namesake would be just as deadly and beguiling.

They would torture each other, from wicked tongues and undone beds to the scent of each other and the phantom of their shape on their beds. The mirror would reflect only her when she looked into it, and for the first time, it would have nothing to say.

Because if she haunted him, he’d be haunting her.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to read my stories before I post them here, find me on Tumblr:
> 
> https://droppedmydamncroissant.tumblr.com/
> 
> I'll be happy to add you to my tag list.


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